


an overflow of bubbles

by teddy_the_bear03



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Soft Boys, This ship needs more fluff, so i provided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddy_the_bear03/pseuds/teddy_the_bear03
Summary: "sure, the dining table still wobbled and the painting still hung askew on the wall, but the house was doing well. he was doing well. and he knows, as he pushes a chair in and gazes into the little nook they call a kitchen, that he only has one person to thank."





	an overflow of bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> holy cannoli! this ship really doesn't have any stuff! i was launched into this fandom by a very close friend of mine, and these two i absolutely adore. so i decided to make a "domestic" series for them, which will include 3 sfw fics and 1 nsfw fic. 
> 
> if you're still reading this, thank you, and hopefully i'll see you around! xo!

//

"it was lovely seeing you! please come again!" wilson shouts from the porch, which earns a backwards wave from willow, and a "see ya, mister wilson!" from webber, who skipped along a little faster but held willow's hand nonetheless. they made their way through the trees, webber talking animatedly about a book he’d been reading before willow had picked him up.

  
when they disappeared from sight, wilson shut the door quietly and turned to face the cabin. it was looking a lot better from when he'd returned to his secluded home a year ago, the dust wiped clean off his desk, shelves and counters and the bed neatly made. sure, the dining table still wobbled and the painting still hung askew on the wall, but it was doing well. he was doing well. and he knows, as he pushes a chair in and gazes into the little nook they call a kitchen, that he only has one person to thank.

wes gently places the rest of the dishes in the sink, proceeding to run the water over them and scrape off the excess gunk that stuck stubbornly to the surface. wilson watches for a few seconds, eyes following the graceful but strong movements of the mime’s fingertips as they picked off leftovers and sent them down into the drain. in these moments, quiet ones where wilson feels so lucky that he still has wes he cannot help but smile, lean back against the table and bathe in the warm feeling of gratitude.

but the dangerous wobble of the wood almost sends him reeling into the ground so he rights himself, pushes the other chairs in and decides to walk up behind wes, wrap his arms around the taller man’s waist and bury his face into his back. he feels wes’s ministrations stop, and his breathing hitch, before he hears the soft rumble of a chuckle in the mime’s chest and his arms resuming to his task.

they stay like that for as long as wes washes the dishes, placing them to dry on the towel laid out smoothly on the counter beside the sink. wilson feels safe, feels warm and comfortable holding onto wes as he cleans, soap foam building up in the sink as he finishes. wilson grins to himself, and decides leans up on his tippy toes to give wes a small kiss on the cheek. he feels wes smile, too, and as he does so scoops up a nice handful of bubbles before wiping them delicately on wes’s face.

wilson laughs for a beat and scrambles away to the mouth of the tiny kitchen, where he could see confusion tracing the lines of wes’s furrowed eyebrows. soap suds cascaded down the mime’s nose and down along his jaw, taking some face paint with them as they dripped onto his striped shirt. after a few solid seconds of tense silence and wes looking at wilson with uncertainty, wilson just places his hands on his hips and with a challenging look in eye says, “you heard me.”

the tension in wes’s eyebrows releases, and a smirk makes its’ way onto his face. he nearly smacks his hand into the sink, getting a good amount of bubbles on his hand before chasing after wilson through the threshold of the kitchen and into the cozy living space, grazing his hip against the dining table before diving for wilson and smacking the foam against his boyfriend’s right neck and clothed shoulder. wilson turns around and full on laughs, and wes can feel the hearts that appear in his eyes.

wes likes wilson. wes is in love with wilson and he’s sure it’s the best feeling on earth. he hates his own voice; dislikes hearing it aloud, dislikes how oddly high it is for a man his height, dislikes how people know precisely what he means when he uses it. it’s one of the reasons why he took to the art of the mime; he could be seen, could be heard without having to speak. his actions could be bold and grand and people would applaud him for it.

but wilson knew. he felt comfortable enough around wilson to use his stupid high voice, which was always hoarse from antagonism and unuse. wilson told him that if he didn’t love his voice, he would love it twice. he claimed that his laugh sounded like wind chimes; that his delicate moans sounded like the best music he’d ever heard. and wes, for some reason he cannot and doesn’t necessarily want to pin down, believed him.

so wes laughs with him, runs after him as the small scientist sprints to the kitchen to gather up more bubbles in his cupped hands and to blow them against the mime’s face. wes giggles as they collide with his cheekbones and lunges for more of the foamy substance gathered in the sink, shaking it off of his hands and into wilson’s hair. it smells of lemon and lavender and joy and they’re both breathlessly grinning by the time the bubbles run out.

“who won?” wes asks, cringing as his voice breaks at the end of who. he feels his heart lift as wilson ignores it, panting as he rests his hands on his knees. he replies with a casual, “obviously i did, as i started the fight with a strong first move.” wes snorts, and wilson laughs with him, both catching their breath.

after a few moments wes stretches his back and makes his way over to where wilson is once again leaning against the dining table, taking extra care in not making the slightly shorter leg teeter against the wooden floor. “guess i’ll have to win in something else then, hm?” he asks quietly, lacing his and wilson’s fingers together as he looks down upon the shorter man. wilson swallows, lets his eyes roam up wes’s torso and chest to meet his gaze, and licks his lips in anticipation. wilson then snorts, breaking away from the unsaid staring contest.

“you know what? that was actually the worst segway to kissing me ever. i don't think i even want you to kiss me,” wilson laughs, leaning backwards against the table and chuckling behind the hand that isn't preventing him from falling over. wes laughs for a moment but doesn’t speak, opting for flicking his vision down to wilson’s mouth and shrugging, before gently leaning in. wilson basks in the view of wes’s delicate face before cupping his cheek and meeting the mime halfway.

every time he kisses wes, he feels fireworks go off in his head. their mouths slot together perfectly, wes sliding a hand down to wilson’s hip to thumb at the skin underneath the fabric. this sends a shudder down the scientist’s back, causing wilson’s lips to part a bit, and wes just presses another kiss to his mouth.

it’s slow, and sweet, and chaste, and wilson enjoys the languid pace they're going. wes’s lips are soft, perhaps due to the lipstick he always wore, and wilson imagined that his own mouth would soon be, if it wasn't already, painted black. wes slides the hand once caressing wilson’s back up to his scalp, where he gently tangles his pale fingers in between the dark strands. wilson makes a small, pleasured noise in the back of his throat, prompting wes to smile broadly against his mouth.

“shut up,” wilson says bashfully, shoving the mime a few inches away from him with his fingertips. wes grins, and takes the few moments they are parted to catch his breath. when wes leans in again, wilson tries to meet him again, but instead is met with soft, delicate suckles to his jaw. “o-oh,” wilson sighs, squeezing the striped shirt wes wore in his hands while he kissed, leaving faint black hearts wherever he pressed.

wilson starts to giggle when wes smooches against his chin, and begins to laugh as he moves down to his neck, where his fingers skitter across wilson’s collarbone as he works. the gloves were removed when wes began washing the dishes, and wilson is a little sad that he won't get to see the mime remove them with his teeth. with that thought (and visual) in his mind, he feels his face flush.

as wilson’s laughs subside, the kisses become lighter until wes faces the smaller man, sneaking his fingers into the belt loops of wilson’s pants. “do i win?” wes asks softly, against his ear. the scientist feels his heart race at the lower-than-usual tone, and nods to get the feeling of wes everywhere out of his mind.

wes leans back and wilson goes with him, their mouths meeting once more. wes opens his mouth, tongue flicking teasingly against the pink of wilson’s kiss-swollen lips when there is a loud knocking at the door. they jump away from each other, both of them shooting wide-eyed glances to see if the door was unlocked. nonetheless, wilson recovered faster than wes, smoothing out his clothing and brushing nonexistent hair out of his eyes before answering the door.

“who is it?” he asks, and to his relief it was just willow and webber, standing awkwardly at the door. “hey, webber forgot his-” willow’s inquiry dies in her throat, and wilson looked at her confusedly while wes snorted behind him. “sorry, should we come back later?” she asks, pointing at wilson’s neck. he drags his fingers across his throat, and looks at them before turning bright red. wes’s matte black lipstick was all over his face and neck in elegant hearts. “oh, god, uhm, ignore all of- uhm, this. what'd he lose?” but willow and webber were grinning from ear to ear, the spider-faced child dancing in one place.

“were you and mr. wes kissing? was it fun?” he asks excitedly, while willow keeps her mouth shut. wilson is silently thankful that she isn't asking what he knows she wants to in front of a child, as it was much too profane for the innocence standing next to her. his thought process (stewing) is cut off by wes placing a warm hand on his shoulder, and handing the book webber had left behind on the table to the child. the mime winks at him and webber grins, teeth glinting like piano keys in the setting sunlight.

“well, we better get you back home to grandpa,” willow says pointedly, rubbing webber’s shoulder as the child turns to face her. “okay! i’ll tell him all about today, and how good my book is…” webber continues on, running down the stairs and starting to walk along the darkening path. “i better go catch up to him. you two have fun!” willow lilts, and she darts off the porch before wilson can fume at her.

wilson turns around to face wes, who is smiling at him innocently. his face paint is faded, giving way to the pale and blemished skin underneath. acne scars cover the bottoms of his cheeks in soft reds, and a scar that shoots down through his eyebrow and all the way down his cheekbone is now visible. wilson reaches up to press a feathery light kiss to wes’s forehead before sending his gaze to the creaky bed.

“i know it’s early, but shall we?” he asks, and the mime says nothing, just laughs at the indent in the wall where the bed frame has hit against it so many times, and shuts the door to pin wilson against it. in his elegant soprano, he just murmurs in the scientist’s ear as he lifts his legs around his hips,

“we shall.” 

 


End file.
